The Mask of Death

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©Chris Mars – Paintings

How can you be so sure
this mask

you so neatly tie
to the clip on festival of ears
and nose
makes your face

whole – my friend, my insomniac life?

Now it could be
you’ve been here,
repeatedly;
that bastard,

may have gotten tired,
satisfied with all his old wars;
the conflicts ever renewing,
those dark grotesqueries, love’s suitors;

and, you seem knowing
all too well of the fatal game;

you’ve been playing along, way too long,
and she has all the cards: you, the lies;
so quickly – go now, do not look —
nor turn back; for it’s too late, tear off

that skin, the masked impersonation
of self and anti-self, unbound
in deadly anticipation of this doubt:
casting all that is in fear and terror —
of that which lives inside, crumpled, along;
under that dark stone of thought, forgotten.

Go look in the mirror, what do you see?
Yes, it is the despair’s other face,
the untimely prince —uncloaked, unseen;
and now you’ve given him the final lie:
a chance disguise, the mask of death – a surprise.


– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

2 thoughts on “The Mask of Death

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